All Shook Up
by DetectiveLinky
Summary: Prussia and his pilfering habits land him with a treasure beyond his wildest dreams-America's scrapped Love Gun. With a little bit of ingenuity, awsomeness and duct tape Prussia takes the World Meeting by storm. There he discovers his secret weapon-UST.
1. Chapter 1

Hallo everybody!  
>So, somehow in the scheme of madness and procrostination and lethargy, I somehow got enough of a spark of imagination to finish this chapter up. I dunno how it'll do in the scheme of things, but if people seem to like it I may continue.<br>I AM working on my other stories, though slowly, in the way that a once-a-year updater like me tends to. The upside being that there are a LOT of fics in the making, so there's alot coming up, probably.  
>Anywho, on with the show!<p>

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><p><em>There are times, <em>Prussia mused, _that rooting through people's garbage can be totally awesome._

Garbage theft was a habit that Prussia had picked up at the end of the second World War—with Russia starving him out on his side of the Berlin Wall, he didn't have much of a choice for him or his people other than to indulge in the rather _unawesome _hobby if he wanted to survive.

Even after that was over, though, he just couldn't bring himself to stop. Sure, it was sort of gross, and undignified, and he had _no _idea what to tell the neighbors when they caught him during one of his sprees-but when it wasn't making him look like a freaky stalker, dumpster diving could yield some amazing prizes.

Like the totally sweet sci-fi gun thing he had just found in America's trash. Other countries like Japan and Austria were sort of hard to loot from since they did so much damn reusing, but America's garbage was like a mountain of unused awesome.

Seriously, the guy probably could have made a freakin' laser castle thing with all the crap he had in his garbage pile.

Munching on some grub the Italy brothers had deemed "un-gourmet" enough to toss out, Prussia turned the gun over in his hands, trying to make heads or tails of it. "Now, what are you supposed to be…?" he asked.

As if the gun could sense how awesome he was, it gave him the answer in the form of a taped-on label reading "Love Gun-Warning—Do Not Touch!"

'_Love Gun?' Didn't think Mr. Star and spangled was into that kinda thing… _he thought (giving himself the appropriate mental high-five for that _awesome_ nickname).

A quick check of the gun was enough to see why the thing was in the trash. _This gun's totally fake… doesn't have any guts at all. _

_So why's it got the warning label? America's idea of a joke? Naw, he's too thick for that…_

…_He didn't actually think it would _work, _did he?_

Now that he thought about it (not that he had forgot or anything), it would be exactly the sort of thing America would believe.

As Prussia stared at the glorified water gun, an idea began clicking into place.

America thought this gun worked.

Prussia had the gun.

Prussia was bored.

And had a lot of duct tape and old gun pieces at home.

With a grin that would have put the Grinch to shame, East Germany started heading back to his house.

There was a lot of work to be done before the next World Meeting…

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><p>While he had officially stopped being called to the World Meetings after his 'disbanding,' pity had kept Prussia in the board until the incident of summer 1963 (Which no one would ever, ever speak of again, though the pink stains had never really came out of the meeting room floor…). After which, he was tossed out bodily every time he tried to enter and, in fact, had a team of guards specifically trained to keep him, and only him, out of the building.<p>

So it was something of a surprise when he burst into the middle of the latest meeting, dragging along an unconscious member of the 'Prussia Ejection Squad' and wielding what seemed to be the lovechild of a water gun and a sci-fi convention.

England, in one of his cooler moments, refrained from jumping up (like almost everyone else) or pulling any guns out (like a certain trigger-happy Swede). "Prussia, I don't suppose there's any way to convince you that whatever prank you're planning won't be worth the effort?"

"No way in hell, eyebrows!" he cackled. "It's TOTALLY gonna be worth it! France, yer gonna love me!"

"I certainly hope so, _mon cher_" France sighed. "Or I'm afraid that you'll be paying for everyone's drinks tonight."

Prussia smirked at him and raised his gun-thing. Loose bits of duct-tape flapped through the air like war flags. "Behold, ye mortals, and despair!" he bellowed. "The Love Gun—Version 2!"

The words would have had absolutely no effect had America not gasped and stood up, knocking his chair over in the process. "No-! No, I got rid of that thing! Where did you get that?"

"I have my sources." He responded, since 'I dug through your trash' wouldn't have exactly the effect he was going for.

America cursed under his breath. "Damn those penguins! I trusted them…" he muttered.

Prussia (and in fact, the whole room) decided it wouldn't be worth it to ask. "Your stupid American scientists couldn't do anything with this! But my PURE AWSOME turned this into a DEADLY WEAPON of mass…" he actually paused for a moment—America had been awfully jumpy about that phrase. "…humiliation!" he finished in what he felt was a particularly smooth way.

West Germany actually found himself tearing up a little. "He finally knows what that word means…" he murmured proudly. "There may be hope for him after all."

The hope would be all but squashed as Prussia did an elaborate run-and-jump combo that landed him on top of England's paperwork (which he got rather irked off about—he had just gotten those straight, bugger it all!) and, in a move that took several moments to digest, plucked a single hair from the country's head.

"Bloody hell was that for?" England swore as the rest of the meeting room stared at him. Murmurs of things like 'finally gone over the deep end' and 'attention-starved' began circling the table.

But Prussia had his ace up his sleeve. With a flip of his thumb, he jammed the strand of hair into a small compartment in the gun and pointed it at America.

"With one pull of this trigger," he said dramatically, "and one strand of hair, I can make you fall in love," he paused for effect, "…with _anyone._"

The room stared as a unit. Now it was up to America's flair for the dramatics and gullibility to make this work.

Behind his glasses, America's face paled and his eyes widened. He stared down the barrel of the gun as if it actually held a bullet inside of the chamber.

Prussia grinned. Bingo.

The room would be a harder audience to convince. "Bruder, get off of the table." Germany sighed. "There will be no more nonsense during this meeting. You and I will have a talk when we get home."

Similar sentiments of disbelief were shared around the room, though some of the more impressionable countries were still eyeing the gun cautiously. America, for his part, hadn't let his eyes leave it.

All it would take for this to work was for America to play along, even if it meant getting him into hysterics to do so. "Don't believe me, do ya?" he asked, channeling his 'war' persona—the crazy, unpredictable warmonger he used to be. It would add a level of believability to his performance.

His brother blinked at him. He'd noticed it, and was growing uneasy. This was working well so far.

"You wanna test your theories?" he asks, keeping the gun leveled on America. "How would it feel, do you think? Going head-over-heels for your daddy?"

England wanted to point out that he was not, in fact, America's 'daddy' and would have counted as an older brother at most, but the look on America's face stopped him. It was…fearful. Genuinely fearful. Something rather unpleasant smacked up against his heart.

Prussia noticed both of them, and his smirk got bigger. Oooh, so he didn't have to just blow words around. That was good. Too good.

"Three seconds to beg." He said. "Then you all can worship at my feet, if you don't wanna be hit by this baby."

The room, for the most part, was still disbelieving and blew him off. The key few were still trained on him though, and it would be those few serious witnesses that would let this bloom into a big ole' mushroom cloud of _awesome._

"One." He said, cocking the gun. "Two…"

With a loud cry America was on top of him, trying to wrestle the gun out of his grip. He was the stronger super power, and they knew it, but Prussia knew he would win. For one thing, the economy had taken a turn for the worse in America—while he didn't necessarily feel it was cool to rely on something like that, it at least put them on closer to equal footing in terms of strength. Secondly, America's movements were frantic and hurried—his fingers kept slipping, and he spent more time trying to keep himself upright then grappling for the gun.

Thirdly, Prussia already had a clear shot of America's forehead.

_BANG!_

Contrary to everyone else's belief, there had in fact been a bullet—a suction cup dart, which actually managed to be fairly noisy when fired and did very little else. Being the drama king he was (or maybe because he was in such close proximity), America was thrown back by the shot and fell, splayed, to the floor.

"America!" England cried, and rushed over to him. The rest of the table had gone silent in shock, and a few of the more concerned individuals had rushed over as well.

England kneeled down next to the 'fallen' country, lifting him into sitting with an arm. He used his other to pull the comically 'twang'-ing suction cup off of his forehead. "Oi, America! Get up you idiot!" he snapped, but the concern leaked through.

After a dramatic moment, America's eyes fluttered open. "…England?" he murmured.

"Oh, for goodness sake America, it wasn't that powerful. Regardless, I suppose, are you alright?"

Other countries asked their own versions of the question, including "Are you still alive, _amerique_?" and "Ve~ It didn't work, did it?"

America, seemingly dazed, looked up at England. He blinked once. Twice. Three times.

Then, in a way comparable to a sunrise, or a thermometer, or the most perfect victory Prussia could imagine, America broke out into a full-faced blush.

The silence lasted only long enough to process what they were seeing.

And then there was chaos.

There were screams, and yelling, and laughter and the lamentations of women (well, mainly Latvia. Hungary was 'squee'-ing pretty loudly though). At least one of the Italys seemed to get it into their head that running around wildly with their hands in the air would be a good idea, and France's trademark "Oh-hon-hon-hon!" was overlapping with Prussia's trademark "Kesesesesesesesese!". Papers flew, chairs fell and the table was very nearly overturned (Why anyone had seen any of those things necessary was beyond reasoning).

And in the center of the hurricane was England and America, trapped in an eye lock that was quickly turning both participants a bright cherry color.

America wet his lips, trying to make some kind of argument, or apology, or _anything_ to remedy the situation. "E-England…" he rasped.

That was right about when England's supporting arm gave out. America hit the floor with a dazed _thud_ as England continued to stare, wide-eyed and jaw dropped, into open space.

Prussia was having the time of his life. _Never _had his pranks been anywhere near this successful (though he wouldn't openly admit that). Everyone was in a frenzy, the two idiots were staring big gaping holes into each other and even people like Sweden or Austria weren't interfering. In fact, they seemed to be in states of panic themselves. It seemed like he had hit the jackpot with this unresolved sexual tension.

The only one not panicking seemed to be Germany. "EVERYBODY BE QUIET!" he barked.

Everyone froze where they were, comically suspended in the middle of whatever they had been doing. That voice had, after all, been specifically trained to cut across battlefields and demand authority immediately. Authority that the room very willingly gave (With the exception of the 'lovebirds' in the corner).

"Thank you. Now, this nonsense is going to stop immediately! We cannot afford to lose any more time in this meeting than has already been wasted, silly pranks or no! There is no such thing as a 'love gun', and there never will be! Remember everyone; this is my Bruder we are speaking of. This is Prussia."

Everyone nodded their heads, obviously thinking on his rather valid point. People began to relax.

This wouldn't do. Thankfully, it was Feli to the rescue. "Ve~, but Germany…" he said. "What about America and England? It worked on them…" he looked over at the still-shocked countries in the corner.

Tensions immediately rose again.

"Italy…you honestly can't believe that." Germany flat panned. Prussia noticed, however, that he offered up no counter argument, and there was a mild expression of…was that worry?

Oho. A chink in the armor. And a red-hot iron for him to strike.

"Need more proof, do ya?" he asked, zeroing in on his next victim. "Spain, lend me some hair."

Spain, amicable as always, chirped something including a lot of "Si, si!" as Prussia picked a hair from his head. He stuffed it into the compartment (now empty, thanks to his own innovative genius in the gun design) and leveled it at what he knew very keenly was going to be another successful subject.

Romano was very, very used to staring down the business end of a gun. He did manage the mafia, after all. However, the threat this particular gun posed was of an entirely different color, so his violent panic was, to him, entirely acceptable. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Point that thing somewhere else, you bastard!" he spat. He chose to ignore the shaking in his arms, or the nervous twitch he was getting in his right eye.

Prussia didn't. He smirked, and Romano swallowed. Loudly.

The air in the room had a very different weight then the first time Prussia had been pointing that gun. All eyes were on the two, breathlessly anticipating. One impossible couple might have been chance. But two, especially when one half of it was the notoriously stubborn South Italy? _This_ had to be seen to be believed.

And Prussia was more than willing to give them a show. "You'll be juuuust perfect" he purred, making a spectacle out of readying the gun.

Something in Romano's brain seemed to snap at that. "YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE, YOU BASTARD!" he screamed, throwing himself backwards out the window.

It was just as shocking as it sounded.

Prussia would not be daunted though. With marksmanship Sweden would have been proud of (if he had ever been able to look at Prussia without trying to shoot him), he fired the second bullet-dart-suction cup.

Right into Romano's falling ass.

"CHIGIIIIIIIIIIII~!" He screamed as he fell. No one could quite tell if it was meant to be swearing or not. From the sound of breaking greenery, at least the fall had been soft.

It seemed to dawn on Spain at that point that his little tomato had just thrown himself bodily out of a window on the third story. "Loviiiiiii!" he cried, throwing himself out of the same window and, from the sounds of the swearing, fallen into the same shrubbery.

That was the last straw for everyone else.

"RUN FOR YOUR LIIIVEEESS!" Lithuania screamed in a high-pitched shriek even he himself didn't know he possessed. Everyone seemed inclined to listen to it, regardless, as they began scattering to the winds, screaming for their lives or covering their heads (and butts) or even strolling out leisurely while promising to buy Prussia drinks.

In the end, it was only Germany. Even England and America had somehow managed to remove themselves from the war site previously known as their meeting room.

Germany's long-suffering sigh was interrupted by a _whack! _At the back of his head as a suction-cup dart found its third target.

He finished his sigh and pulled it off. "Bruder, really. This has simply gone too far, this time."

Prussia gave him another one of his sharky grins. "Honestly, Bruder. You still think this is just a prank?"

"Of course." His brother responded.

The twitch in his hands told Prussia otherwise.

But he knew how to play this. He gave a shrug and started walking off. "Fine by me." He said. "If you don't want to trust me on this, I get it. But, eh…" his voice dropped to a conspiring stage-whisper. "I suggest you be a little careful around Feli, if you know what I mean."

Germany stared at him. "Huh?" he asked.

But Prussia was already off, clutching his gun like a gem and cackling like a maniac.

There wasn't even enough time to digest what Prussia had said before he suddenly found himself with an armful of crying Italy. "Veeee, Germanyyyyy! Prussia pulled at my hair and it hurt and I don't know why he did thaaaat! Please don't let him hurt me, Germany, I'll be good, I promiiiisee!"

Half of those words didn't even get to Germany's mind. What was managing to get through was Italy's body pressed up against his, Italy's curl bobbing up and down under his nose, Italy's big hazel eyes gazing up at him and his lips pursed…

Ordinarily, his common sense would have told him he was just having a temporary lapse in judgment and needed to shape up. However, after the events of the past few minutes, too many nonsensical, silly facts were adding up. The dart to his head. Italy's hair. The gun. This attraction…

Germany somehow managed to pale and go bright red at the same time.

Oh. Oh no.

This was going to be a problem.

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><p>Prussia left the building just as awesomely as he had arrived. Only this time, it was less kung-fu-action-sequence and more like the lazy but gratified stroll of a bad job well done.<p>

He lifted his amazing, still-basically functionless gun to the sky.

"Say hello," he grinned, "To my little friend."

This was going to be _awesome._

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><p><em>Dun dun duuuuun!<em>

So yes, please review. Flames are blechy and make baby kittens die, but constructive critisism is more than welcome. Thanks for the patience!


	2. The AuthorNote Reassurance Chapter

"Oh my gawd, I HATE excuse chapters! They are SO annoying and are only there to make cheap excuses for the author!"

Ahem.

Erm yeah. Never thought I' do my own excuse chapter, but I'll replace it with a real chapter asap.

See, thing is, I've been buried under a mixture of my senior project, collage applications, collage auditions and a severe amount of brain block. However! I AM still actively working on this story (Ie. Running around and asking people where the story should be going), so this, along with my Zelda fanfic and a plethora of other fics are currently being worked on!

Also, please note that I made some big messy mistakes in the first chapter of this fic that I WILL go back and fix ASAP.

Thank you very much for your patience, and specifically thanks to Geekisthenewawesome, widdershins, awesome gilbird and psychokittenterror for their awesome-sauce reviews! I promise I'll start cracking on this!

Sincerely,

DetectiveLinky


	3. Another Author Note? Whoops

AN: Ummmm yeah

It sure has been a while, huh?

Now I have a very good explanation for my tardiness—

I didn't want to admit that I was having such a hard time keeping up. I have no beta readers to help me with plot or structure, and I started getting into other fandoms *CoughHomestuck and Kingdom Heartscough* and having other commitments *coughcollegecough*.

However….

I don't intent to give up on this story. I'm really sorry it's been such a long time, and even now I can't promise any kind of solid schedule, but I will try not to leave the whole thing hanging for another year. I'm trying to confront this problem and solve it, somehow.

To anyone still watching—thank you so much. I don't really deserve the loyalty, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving it.

As soon as I know what's up I'm gonna start writing like mad. Well, IDK how much will actually be anything of quality, but it's not like you guys came here for quality right? :3 Haha

So yes, Blue Eyed Youth and All Shook Up will hopefully be seeing updates again. And I hope to edit my main page to be less about my fandoms and more about my future plans/plot bunnies.

Hope to see you all very near in the future!

-Detective Linky


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